Chapter 15
Early the next morning, my phone buzzes with Whitley’s face flashing across the screen. I groan, already knowing that if I don’t answer, she’ll keep calling, relentless as a broken ceiling fan, churning and clicking until I’m fully awake.
I accept the call and put her on speaker, too drained to lift the phone to my ear.
“Mr. Delancey,” she greets.
“Whitley.” I sigh. “It’s early.”
“I just showered. I cut, like, one hundred pieces of wood this morning. We need to have a bonfire soon. Also, are you coming over to coyote hunt?”
I smack a hand to my forehead. “Right now?” My voice is groggy. “I don’t know. I’m literally so tired from this week.”
I wish I could tell her about Xander and the tree. She’s working the same job as me so complaining seems lame when there’s so much more to it. But I don’t even know what I would say. How do I begin to explain that I see a dead person?
I decided overnight I can’t start the online community for that exact reason. It comes across as less helpful and more desperate for attention.
“Ugh, Stetson. You’re killing me. I need you.”
So many people need me these days. Victor. Sheryl. Kim. Murray. Xander. Whitley.
I need a day for myself.
“Can I help you later this weekend?”
“No. Come now. We can’t let the coyote escape our perimeter. Plus . . .” She trails off.
I sit up, suddenly more awake. “What?”
“I have some bad news.”
“What?” I say again, sharper.
She exhales. “At first I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to ruin your Saturday but—”
“Did Murray text you again?”
“Yeah.” She sighs. “He’s here now. He said he wanted to say goodbye to me or something before I leave for school. He just came over.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s such a lie. He wants to talk to you about me.”
“I know. I’m not an idiot. But he wouldn’t let up.” Bennie barks in the background. “Has he texted you?”
“No. And he completely ignored me at the Bean.”
“What? Why?”
“I don’t know! And isn’t it weird that he’s only texting you?”
“Yeah.” A silence stretches between us. Rustling wind comes through the speaker. “Are you mad he’s here?”
The first word that comes to mind is yes. I don’t want to see Murray. And I don’t want my friends seeing him.
But I also know better than to act surprised when he finds his way back into my life through a call, friend, or uninvited memory.
It’s stupid to think he’d disappear just because I ended things.
We share the same hometown. He still lives ten minutes down the road.
Our parents shop at the same grocery store.
We swim in the same river. He’s a part of my past, whether I like it or not.
But Penango County is just that—my past. It’s where I am from but not where I’m meant to stay.
Less than two months. That’s all that stands between me and crossing the county line and stopping history from repeating itself.
I wipe my hand down my face. “It’s fine,” I say. “You can see whoever you want.”
“Okay, cool,” she says “But now I need you to come over so I can get him out of here. I need a reason to tell him to leave.”
I shrug. “You shouldn’t need one.”
“I know, but I do.”
I press my fingers into my temples. I don’t want to do this. But I know how this goes. If I don’t go, he wins. He gets to linger.
“Fine. I’ll be there soon. Make sure he’s gone before I get there.”
Later, as I pull into Whitley’s driveway, the sharp crack of shattering glass cuts through the air.
Thirty yards away, brown shards explode from the top of a tree stump.
Whitley stands in the grass, rifle raised, wearing a bikini top and jean shorts.
The sun glints off her back muscles, highlighting the peeling skin of a fresh sunburn.
She fires another round, then swings the gun onto her shoulder and turns to face me.
“Took you long enough,” she says.
“It’s been a rough week,” I say. “Do you want my help or not?”
She wrinkles her nose. “Well, it shows, cranky. You can give all your attitude to Murray since he’s still here. He’s using the bathroom.”
“He is? I thought you were going to make him leave before I got here.”
“I tried, but I think it just made him stay longer.”
“Great.” I run my hand through my hair.
Suddenly, the front door squeaks open. Murray saunters outside with a yawn, halfway through tying the drawstring on his shorts.
I’ve spent ninety percent of my weekends over the past three years with Murray, so whenever my life exists within the remaining ten percent, something always feels like it’s missing.
But that ten percent is going to be one hundred percent of the time now, so I need to learn how to make it seem whole.
I no longer wake up and ask, What are we going to do today? but What am I going to do today? And most of the time, I don’t have a freaking clue.
My whole personality, my world, revolved around Murray.
I wasn’t just Stetson. I was Stetson + Murray, just like I carved into the Ardor Tree.
I never thought it was a problem until he was gone and I was left standing on one side of the life we used to share like a seesaw, suddenly aware of how uneven everything had become.
“What are you shooting at?” Murray asks Whitley.
“I’m practicing for coyote hunting with Stetson,” she says, nodding at me. “I told you I couldn’t hang out that long because he didn’t want to see you.”
I sigh, then give her a look. She shrugs.
“I don’t know how else to say it,” Whitley explains. “Y’all’s relationship is too complicated for me.”
I huff.
“I’m leaving,” Murray says. “Don’t worry. I have football practice at Penango College this afternoon anyway.” He reaches back inside the house, grabs his duffel bag, and slings it over his shoulder.
I should let him go. Let him keep walking. Let this moment pass without another word after how he treated me at the Bean. But then he moves by me and his scent hits, dry leaves and honey.
The pull on my heart is instant.
I hate it.
“Hey, Murray,” I say before I can stop myself.
He ignores me. I stare at his hands. His knuckles are red and calloused. The sight makes me clench my fists.
He pauses at the end of the driveway. “Did you ask Stetson if he got my messages?” he asks Whitley.
Whitley looks at me, narrowing her eyes. “Yeahhh,” she says slowly. “He said he didn’t get any texts from you all week and that you ignored him at the Bean.”
“He never showed up to the Bean.” Murray scratches his head.
“Could you ask him again? I know he’s still waiting to hear on the money for Tennessee.
But I just found out I can get us discount housing near Penango College since I’m on the football team.
He could live with me there. It could still be something different for him.
We . . . we could work on things. I just need to send in our info soon. ”
Whitley curls her lip. “I’m pretty sure he told you he doesn’t want to do that. But why don’t you ask him yourself?” She gestures at me.
“I tried! He’s lying about the messages. I sent him an email too in case he blocked my phone number.”
My arms cross tightly over my chest. “I’m not lying,” I say. “And I didn’t block you.”
Whitley groans. “I did not wake up this morning wanting to be y’all’s therapist.”
Murray sighs. “Ask him.”
“Stetson, do you want to live in an off-campus apartment at Penango College in the fall with Murray?” Whitley asks, her shoulders deflating.
I hesitate. If I tell him that I haven’t gotten my financial aid yet, he’ll never leave me alone. It’ll be an opening, another chance for him to dig in and keep me stuck in this conversation.
Murray gives her a thumbs-up. “Yeah, you could say it direct like that. Holler when he responds.”
“I’m not staying with you, Murray,” I repeat.
He ignores me, again, and walks north toward town. “If he does say no,” he calls over his shoulder, “I’d love to see him before he leaves for Tennessee. Just one more time.”
Whitley plants her hand on her hip. “Murray Mifflin, are you drunk right now?”
He laughs. “I wish I was. It would make this whole breakup a hell of a lot easier.”
She scoffs. “Stop being a baby and use your damn eyes. He’s right here in the drive.”
“Funny joke,” he mutters.
Heat flares through me like a bomb detonating in my chest.
Does he really not see me? A horrible thought enters my head. Could I be invisible like Xander?
“Murray!” I shout, stepping forward. “Stop!”
But he doesn’t stop. His ears don’t twitch. His head doesn’t turn. He keeps walking like I never spoke.
Like I don’t exist.
I stand frozen, watching him disappear beyond the evergreen trees.
My voice shakes. “Whitley, am I standing in the driveway?” I ask.
“You sure are,” she says. “And he just ignored the hell out of you.”
Something sinks in my gut like I’ve jumped off a twenty-foot-high diving board. I lift my hands in front of my face, turning them slowly, inspecting every crease, scar, hair, and piece of me that suddenly doesn’t feel like mine.
“Enough killing time,” Whitley says, tossing me her rifle. Then she digs into her pocket and pulls out a box of ammo. “We have a coyote to kill. Load that up. I’m going to get my other gun.”
She disappears inside the house and leaves me alone beneath the looming mountains. I press my shoes into the loose gravel, listening to the crackle of stone against concrete. The sound steadies me, my breath slows.
A truck rumbles past. The driver, a stranger, grips the steering wheel tightly. I hesitate, then lift a reluctant hand to wave. He nods in return, like he can see me. It lightens the tension in my muscles.
This purgatory started with Xander. Now Murray.
To one I exist. To the other, I don’t.
If heartbreak is what killed me, then I must be on my way to hell.